“So tell me your dream
Lay your head on my pillow
Tell me the things that you hide away
Your pain
Your pleasure
Your sorrow
Tell me the things that you hide away
Your pain your pleasure your sorrow.”
–Blue Rodeo
If you are looking for the less fortunate, you can find them waiting in long lines outside the St Charles rescue mission on East Main on Bridgeport.
If you are looking for a shade different than the golden hues of the New England Gateway, you can stand in line for a free turkey too. And a plastic bag of miscellaneous groceries, with which you will have to make do.
Whose dreams are filled with Stove Top stuffing? Whose childhood memories taste like canned corn and potato buds?
The old man with half a missing ear kissed and blessed me today. I dreamed I found a way to inject my many spare blessings into his empty cupboards.
In Westport, this morning, you could trade a turkey for tickets to see Taylor Hicks in Grease. What morsel of entertainment could we dine on any other holy day?
Forget the thanks. Lean on giving. Forget the holy. Remember the day. Remember the day-to-day dreams.
